Aemond POV
The dragon prince felt like the walking dead the past few weeks. He was getting through the motions one day at a time. His duties at court left very little time for extracurricular activities.
But the leisure time he did have was hollow and lackluster. Vhagar felt his anxiety, temper and uncertainty through their bond. His own feelings bled into her own conscious and made her a moody ticking time bomb.
More than usual that is.
His sister's dreams had opened a door that wouldn't close back. Again and again he felt the heat of Arrax's attack. Tasted the primal fear when his dragon swallowed him and his nephew whole. The texture of flesh and blood was scarred to his being.
Aemond knew his pain was warranted. For disobeying his mother's wishes and chasing Luke atop Storm's End. The temporary high of power and dominace wasn't worth the tragedy to follow.
He's barely managed to hold his anger whenever he found some of Daemon's old goons at Fleabottom.
Grandsire had named his uncle Ser Gwayne Hightower the new commander of the gold cloaks. The two of them have been cleaning the ranks of the city watch from any and all sympathizers to the Rogue prince.
The Club foot took good care of any prominent agents of his uncle and was also helpful in their hunt of Daemon's former lover Lady Mysaria, better known as the White Worm.
She was as elusive as ever. Her reputation as a cunning shadow puppeteer wasn't exaggerated, loath as he was to say. But Aemond had sworn a blood oath to find and dismember all those complicit in the death of Helaena's child.
Mysaria and Daemon gave the order. Borg and Corey were mere instruments. Despicable tools. But replaceable and commonplace.
If it takes a year or ten he will exact justice. He'll cut off the head of the snake.
**
Aemond made his way to Cregan's room. The two have gotten closer since the dreams first began. He appreciated how the northman believed his account of the story.
At the time, the wounds of his future were so raw that he would've pleaded for absolution from anyone who'd listen, even if it turned out to be a pagan.
But his future good-brother was a better man than the Seven-Pointed star described. If his soul is truly doomed to suffer for believing in demons then most mortals are equally condemned after death.
Aemond most of all.
He knocked on the door and waited. The door was opened by Cregan's cousin Brandon. The Umber heir sneered at his arrival and he resisted the urge to respond in kind.
It was bad form to reduce himself to the level of uncouth heathens.
Umber turned to Cregan and spoke in the northern old tongue he preferred to use whenever Aemond was in his presence.
"Your dragon septon is here."
"Prince Aegon?"
He recognized Cregan saying his brother's name. Why the two would mention him is anyone's guess.
"No the actual septon. Not the one who wore the robes for a sennight."
He doubted Umber ever sang his praises, but it's a special kind of petty tactic to speak behind his back, in front of him.
If this remains constant, he'll be forced to tutor Cregan in high valyrian to have the pompous northman taste a bit of his own medicine.
He doesn't know if it's worth his efforts. Incineration is always on the table.
The Stark lord finally meets him. The two shake hands.
"Aemond, it's good to see you."
"Likewise."
"I apologize for my cousin. He's .. an idiot."
Aemond was about ready to laugh when the giant white direwolf made itself known. His cold blue glare practically demanded his attention. As if acknowledging Ragnar's presence was necessary to continue his talk.
"Ragnar, it's a pleasure to see you as well."
He made his way to touch his snout. Such a large beast would cower lesser men into submission. But Aemond is the rider of the oldest dragon alive.
Fear is a word unfamiliar to his vocabulary.
Ragnar didn't protest too much. And he know personally how his rejection would look like. Some of the servants tried poking him in the kennels weeks ago. What inspired such act, foolishness or bravely is irrelevant.
What matters is the outcome. He bit their arm off and shewed on the severed limb then and there.
The slight twitch on Brandon's face was very amusing. He relishes small mercies with how stagnate his life became.
"I've come on Helaena's request. She wished for you to meet her at the Godswood."
Cregan turned around to his cousin, a small smirk adorning his features. It was an annoying reaction considering his sister's involvement.
"Thank you for letting me know, my prince."
The dragon prince moved closer to the cheerful northman.
"No thanks is needed. But I would advise you to be careful. The wedding isn't due until four days from now. Remember that."
It was a dangerous game his sweet sister and her betrothed were playing. They weren't very subtle in hiding their affections.
Aemond valued Helaena's joy and had no intention of destroying it. But reputation is everything in the Capital. So they must dampen the flow of their visible feelings. Even if for just a few days.
"I shall. You needn't worry."
He believed Cregan. He hasn't yet given him any reason not to.
"I was going to the heart tree. I'll join you." Umber was silent up to this time. And spoke in remarkably enough, the common tongue.
"I'd rather you didn't." Cregan didn't seem all too happy about Brandon joining him in meeting the warden's future bride.
Aemond doesn't understand why anyone would like his presence anywhere.
But the particular bride is his sister. He should definitely attend. If only to be an awkward third wheel.
"It's a good thing I wasn't asking for permission."
Maybe Cregan would get so angry he'd cut him down.
That's a wonderful idea.
**
Aemond had just laid down to rest and took off his eyepatch. It wasn't as itchy as it once was. Heleana gifted him a new one a year ago.
Back in the first months of Driftmark, it was just a white bandage that covered half his face. As if pretending to be a victim of a minor injury and still recovering will make it so.
But hope, foolish hope even, was better than drowning in a pit of desolation. His eye cavity was a hollow void. Or it became so after the Maesters extracted the gooey mass and used leeches to prevent possible infection.
Hearing tiny insects drilling into his mind nearly drove him mad. But he couldn't protect his family if he wasn't of sound mind and body.
So he let the healing process end and started training harder than ever before. His blindside was a gigantic weakness that others could exploit. Thus, he had to work with relentless dedication just to make up for his failings.
It was worth it.
The one-eyed prince heard a knock on the door. He bid them to enter. Sleep wasn't a good escape anyhow.
It was his mother who entered his chambers. Her crown was absent and she wasn't wearing the intricate gowns she favors during the day.
It wasn't the Queen who wished to have a word then.
"Mother, what could I do for you?"
He got up and tried to put his eyepatch. His scar is unseemly according to some.
"Don't. You have no need to wear that with me." She gently removed the item from his hands and took a glance at the emerald jewel put in the place his eye used to be. A gift from her.
"And it's actually what I could do for you. And that is listen. So talk."
"Talk, about what?" He rackled his mind trying to think of some conversation that they started and hadn't finished but none came to the forefront. If anything they've barely spoken in the last moon when it comes to matters other than state affairs at the Small council.
He was strictly speaking avoiding her.
Of course she caught on.
"Anything, everything. But I'd prefer you talk about whatever terrible secret that has been weighing you down for weeks." She was staring right into his soul. Asking him to confess his many many sins and beg forgiveness.
He didn't know how to refuse. The dark shadow that Helaena's prohecy cast on his shoulders was constantly growing. He couldn't escape the clutches of destiny no matter how he tried. His own life passed like sand through his hands.
The seven knew he longed for absolution. As much as he dreaded listing his sins and being deemed not worthy of redemption.
Will mother disown him should she found out the truth. Her own flesh and blood an accursed kinslayer.
Does he want to risk it.
"I'm just worried about Helaena. She spent longer than ever in her last dream. I fear she might one day sleep and never wake up."
Craven.
He cursed himself for breathing it aloud. Tempting fate itself and demanding the Gods make due on his abominable request. But his lie wasn't completely a falsehood. Such fears have plagued him. But not as much as others about the death and carnage of his kin.
"My sweet boy, that is never going to happen. Heleana is blessed by the Seven. They will not take her from us until she's lived a long and very happy life."
He mumbled an apology about even thinking such things under his breaths.
"Don't apologize, I have ... had such thoughts before. But I know in my heart of hearts that my fears won't ever come to pass. You should stop worrying too much. Your beautiful silver hair is already turning grey."
He laughed for the first time in ages. It was a strange feeling. He thought he forgot how and why it occurs.
If only it wasn't soured with the truth of his deception. Or better yet omission.
"Get some sleep. Good night, my love."
"I will, good night mother."
It wasn't a peaceful sleep. But the nightmares didn't embrace him either.
Darkness was all there is. He welcomed it.